


Symbolic (A Sunday Afternoon Remix)

by LadySilver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Homework, Prequel, Remix, Teen Wolf Remix 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3544271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilver/pseuds/LadySilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some school assignments turn out to have unanticipated real life applicability.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symbolic (A Sunday Afternoon Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venis_envy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venis_envy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Just Another Sunday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688240) by [venis_envy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venis_envy/pseuds/venis_envy). 



“First we have to pick a story, and then we have to figure out what it means. OK, that should be easy enough.” Scott scrubbed his hand up the back of his head and leaned back in desk chair. They were in Lydia's room, surrounded by whites and pinks, fluff and frills, that the rest of the group was finally starting to recognize as a clever hybrid of Lydia's actual tastes and stage dressing for the persona she so carefully crafted—which made it ideal for the particular assignment they were there to do.

Not that anything could break down Stiles's stubborn resistance to doing work that he had already decided was beneath him. “Figure out—“ Stiles sputtered. “It's a children's story, Scott. A story for children. It's not complicated. Stuff happens, happily ever after, the end.”

“You didn't read them, did you?” Scott asked. “Like, at all?” He folded his hands behind his neck and leveled Stiles with a look that of disappointment. While Stiles could always be counted on to have a cavalier attitude toward homework—especially when he thought he could outsmart the teacher or the assignment—this was extra credit. 

Stiles spun back and forth in his desk chair for a moment before finally conceding, “No.” He tapped a rhythm on the arm of the chair 

Lydia looked up from the book she'd been flipping through, her expression displaying only the passive surprise of someone who wasn't surprised. She was lying stomach down on the bed, the over-sized book spread open in front of her. “Have you ever _actually_ read a fairy tale, Stiles? The original ones, I mean. Not the ones that Disney has thoughtfully sanitized for what they think seven year old girls want?”

Stiles had the courtesy to look momentarily chagrined before doubling down on his position. “What difference does that make? Look, my whole life is things that go bump in the night and big bad wolves—and I don't mean you, Scott.”

“Derek?” Scott asked.

Stiles gave a single, hard nod. “Derek. No offense.” 

Scott snorted. He could hardly argue, since he agreed completely.

“—and if I ever meet an honest to god witch, I know better than to start eating her freakin' _house_ \--” Stiles continued, oblivious to either Scott's interjection or the glare that Lydia was leveling at him. “Whatever happened to 'a cigar is just a cigar'? Forget cigars, what about ducks? 'If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck--”

Lydia slammed the book shut and rolled so she was sitting cross-legged. “Stiles, if you cause my grade to suffer, I will hurt you.” She smiled sweetly at him, then picked up the book and dropped it back on the bed. It made a resounding thunk. “With all the school we've been missing, we can't afford to skip any assignments. That means we actually have to _do_ the work.”

“OK, but why is this a skill we need to practice? It's not like I'm going to wake up one day and go, 'hey, I wonder if the color of my curtains—'”

Lydia held up a hand, cutting him off. “It's a story,” she pointed out, “not real life, and there are many valid reasons to pay attention to the themes and symbols of a story.”

“Name one,” Stiles challenged.

Scott could only raise an eyebrow and enjoy the brewing bicker-fest. He wasn't sure what the purpose of this kind of work was, either, but he'd never been the kind of student who questioned what the teachers told him to do.

“Subversion,” Lydia answered, immediately. “A lot of stories are told at multiple levels so that a message can be sent without the authorities knowing that it's there.”

Stiles grumbled for a second, just to make sure his protest was on record. Knowing that he couldn't win against her, he dropped to the edge of the bed and gingerly picked up the book, as if afraid that it was going to bite him. The pages were thick and the text printed larger than one typically found in books not aimed at children, and he was about to point all this out as evidence for his case when his eye landed on one of the glossy pictures that illustrated the book. There were graphic bite marks and vivid blood and a face contorted in agony. This was right up his alley. He flipped past a few more illustrations, noting that all of them were at least equally graphic. “This is a children's book?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Yes. And no. Children haven't always been coddled and protected from the dark side of the world. And people haven't always been ignorant of the dangers and monsters that lived among them.” She glanced down at her perfectly human-looking hands, marred only by nail paint that needed some touching up. “Especially considering how many of us don't look like monsters.”

“Wow, that got dark,” Stiles commented, dryly.

“You should try reading the stories,” Lydia responded. “In fact, you should try reading one right now. We'll wait. Then we'll get this essay written so we can turn it in tomorrow. If you want to forget all about symbolism after that, be my guest.”

“I will.” Stiles slapped his hands together in finality. “By this time tomorrow, I will have forgotten the whole topic.”

Scott shook his head slowly. Lydia had never worked with Stiles on an assignment before. Knowing her, she never would again. At least Stiles wasn't like this when it counted. A glance out the window showed that the sun was starting to set; they needed to get this assignment done soon because there was no telling when the assorted crises in their lives would let them have another afternoon to focus on homework again. “So, what do you think Ms. Blake meant when she said that fairy tales are more real than we think?” he asked, trying to get the two of them back to work.

“What does it matter?” Stiles asked. “A few more hours and we can pretend this assignment never happened. I'll forget everything, and you'll never hear another word out of me about analysis.” Slapping his hand over his heart, he added, “I guarantee it.”


End file.
